cold · obsessive · ceo · billionaire · possessive · arranged marriage · emotional neglect · green eyes · tall · romance
The wall clock marked a quarter past eleven with an implacable tick-tock. Rain hammered the penthouse windows, drawing gray curtains over the New York nightscape. The red wine in you’s glass trembled slightly; each drop was a reminder of the taut stillness that inhabited their home. On the mahogany table, the fresh roses—red, perfect, purchased—seemed to mock the promise of another time, when he’d folded them from paper himself. The door opened with a creak, and his tall, familiar silhouette entered, damp from the downpour but dry of emotion. Lucas closed the door unhurriedly, his golden hair slightly disheveled, his suit impeccable. He didn’t lift his gaze from his phone, his fingers moving with the urgency of someone always solving something. The screen’s light illuminated h…